moppet
by gryffindormischief
Summary: Sometimes it's the unexpected things you love the most. (single dad! James AU)


A/N: got a prompt for for single dad james with all the marauders being entirely infatuated with the little adorable baby girl potter. I had very barely there inspiration from baby boom and there's a bit of funniness directly inspired by a tv show (bonus points if you guess ha)

* * *

One of the odd things about James' life as an only child of elderly parents is the fact that he'd never really given much consideration to children being younger than him. By the time he was born, the rest of his family - mostly second cousins and other distant relatives - were at least seven years his senior.

Which meant he was never given the responsibility of babysitting, changing diapers, or pretty much doing anything to care for another person until he turned twenty-seven, finished paying off his iPhone, and inherited a kid.

Given that background, he obviously thought the whole thing was a mistake, and told the woman from child protective services so when he met her in a cafe at the airport. "So my second cousin - Ben?"

The odd woman - Mrs. Figg she'd said, he thinks, but the overall smell of mothballs and cat had been a bit distracting - nodded. "Mr. Benjamin Potter and his wife Margaret were both killed in a motor car accident I'm afraid."

Nodding a bit numbly, James accepted the baby - Gwen - with arms that felt like limp noodles and gestured toward a nearby table. Not at all eager to let the only person who knew what to do with a child in the near vicinity go. "And they left her to me?"

She nodded, eyes wandering toward the menu of drinks and treats looming over the counter. James took pity and handed her a bill far too large to cover drinks and whatnot for two, but she seemed a trustworthy sort and his whole world just exploded so he's not too worried about getting his change back.

But she brings him more than enough back, buying him a non-descript black tea and a shortbread biscuit to go with it. "You have a very bare family tree, if it's not to callous to say, Mr. Potter."

"James is alright," he corrects, eyeing the little child in his arms that feels like a ticking time bomb. "And I know - I just figured."

"They left you a considerable amount of money too," Mrs. Figg confides, working the lid from her own drink so she can pour a healthy amount of milk in and dunk a chocolate digestive into the murky depths.

"So - why me?"

She starts, patting around her coat and eventually digging through the tapestry bag at her feet. "There is a letter, but suffice it to say, they figured family was best and your career might allow time for child-rearing."

And that's when it really hits him. Unless he does something drastic to get out of it, he's a father. Or at least as close as you can get to being one without actually siring a kid or adopting one proactively.

"Don't people - I dunno," he scrubs his free hand through his hair while Gwen makes a clumsy grab for his glasses, "Ask before they give someone their kid?"

Mrs. Figg shrugs, "I think it's more customary than anything, but their deaths were a bit unexpected."

James frowns at that, feeling like a bit of a tosser for bemoaning his lot in life when his second - third? - cousin is dead. And the kid is cute. Maybe his childlike demeanor will be good for more than beating Sirius in the occasional backyard water balloon fight. Can you have a water balloon fight with a baby around?"

Despite all James' misgivings and that all important final thought, because obviously the annual Marauders backyard water war is clearly the biggest issue to consider, he doesn't think he can say goodbye to those wide brown doe-eyes and freckled cheeks.

The first few months aren't without their moments of panic, self-doubt, and consideration of whether a professional should be consulted about the mental state of a freelance web designer with a one bedroom flat and two adorably co-dependent best friends accepting a child into his care.

But as time passes, he has less nights where he wakes up in a cold sweat from a nightmare where he accidentally mails Gwen to Sirius' mum in a barrel filled with scorpions. He's got an overactive imagination, sue him.

Except don't, he has a kid to feed.

A kid. Right.

He'd found a pediatrician quickly enough - yes he thought of that himself, Remus - and taken Gwen for more than regular check-ups, enough so that he got almost on a first name basis with the good doctor. But he didn't actually use her first name because Dr. McGonagall is a bit scary.

The only reason he hadn't booked it out of the office after their first visit was the way Gwen looked at the woman like she'd hung the moon. He'd had the baby for at least a week and when Dr. McGonagall held Gwen, it was basically the first time she'd stopped crying for more than five minutes. He was sleep deprived enough he nearly asked if she'd hold the kid 'til quarter past so he could have a kip on the exam table.

So Gwen was in excellent health, well-adjusted as a kid could be, and had started trying to say 'Moony', so James was a fantastic sort-of dad, thank you very much.

Which is why when Sirius is lying across the couch, vacillating between whisper-shouting at the telly and poking Gwen's chubby cheeks and pauses to shout at James, he's a bit ticked. "Oi! Potter. You're a terrible dad."

Gwen grins toothily and James storms from the kitchen, pointing the oil-dripping spatula at Sirius, "I am not, shove it."

And then James turns on his heel and isn't halfway back to his sizzling chicken breast before he's back in the doorway, scowling. "Why am I a terrible dad?"

"Kid's got a rash."

"No she - what?" James tucks the spatula in his back pocket - fatherhood has done strange things to his sense of personal cleanliness - and advances on the reclined duo. "Give her."

Sirius clutches her close and murmurs, "Can't help it if she likes me best James."

Dropping a cushion on Sirius' gloating face, James snatches Gwen away while she coos happily. "Where's the rash?"

After tossing the pillow at James' knees, Sirius rises to a sitting position and sighs, "If I didn't love the kid I'd not tell you out of spite."

"That is not a location on my child that is possibly moments away from anaphylactic shock," James growls, impatient.

"Neck and shoulder," Sirius supplies, brows raised, "Just a few spots."

"A few red spots," James groans, because apparently the universe thought he was getting cocky, "She's got chicken pox."

And James practically has the pediatrician on speed dial, so he presses the number where it sits in his favorites and practically barks that they're on the way with an emergency before hanging up and whirling around the house in a tornado-like fashion until he's wearing a shirt right side out, Gwen is dressed and relatively clean, and he's got about four packs of nappies in the diaper bag. Because Gwen's intestines are a well-oiled machine. Which sounds really gross - he should not say that at parties.

Sirius offers to come along for the ride, but James is working that fine line between calm, responsible dad and about to pop a blood vessel incompetent twenty something and the ten minute drive with one Sirius Black will most definitely push him over the edge into making the evening news.

So James practically locks Sirius inside and bundles Gwen off to the doctor's.

Luckily for James' nerves, they don't hit any lights until the last intersection and he takes that opportunity to examine Gwen where she sits in her car seat. He can just barely see her dark curls where they peak haphazardly over the top, her bow tossed aside long ago.

And even without the spots, having been her primary caregiver for nearly a year, he knows she's entirely too docile and quiet. Because Potter babies are known for their mischief and lungs - with Gwen being no exception - and she's barely even cooed since they left his flat.

Still, he thinks he's pretty well under control by the time he's got her tucked against his chest in the waiting room; his bouncing knee the only sign of his nerves.

Until the usual nurse - Carol - calls them inside and says Dr. Evans will be right in and James is trying really hard not to ask who the bloody fuck Evans is.

But he's calm, and zen, or whatever that meditation app Remus made him try says, so he sits on the exam table and presses a lingering kiss to Gwen's forehead while she dozes against his chest.

He's relatively under control by the time the doctor's entrance jars him back to reality, her auburn locks swept back in an elegant twist, reading glasses low on her nose while she reviews the admittedly thick file on one Gwendolyn Potter.

"So Miss Gwen what's - " she stutters to a halt when she looks up, "You're a bit large for my table."

"Dr. McGonagall said it was alright since Gwen behaves better if I sit with her," James answers, trying for casual when he adds, "By the by, where is she?"

Dr. Evans wheels closer on her little stool, pumping the lever until she's raised high enough to reach Gwen. "Dr. McGonagall is on holiday for the week. I'm her associate."

"I'm sure you're great and all," James begins as Dr. Evans checks Gwen's reflexes.

She turns her eyes on him - entirely too wide and green for his own good - and finishes his sentence, "Yes, I am 'great and all'," and before James can rebut, continues, "The nurse said a rash?"

"Chicken pox, I'm fairly certain," James corrects as he shifts Gwen to sit beside him so Dr. Evans can check her breathing.

Gwen wimpers a little, cheeks a shade flushed as her head droops against his side.

"Did Carol take her temp?"

James' answer is delayed, his focus on Gwen's slow blinks and quiet snuffling. "No, she - she left pretty quickly."

Dr. Evans sighs and pushes her stool toward the work station in the corner, grabbing a pair of gloves and pulling a tray along with her as she slides back. "We'll take care of that right away, won't we, Gwen?"

Another sleepy blink and Dr. Evans sends James an encouraging smile as they wait for the thermometer to beep.

For the first time, Dr. Evans frowns a bit while she's reading the numbers, "Her temp is high enough that coupled with the spots I'm comfortable saying she's got chickenpox. She hadn't been inoculated?"

James groans, "Scheduled for next month - I thought it would be fine to wait 'til she was fifteen months."

"If she's not in play school that's not a terrible gamble," Dr. Evans offers kindly, scribbling on her prescription pad, "Just a gamble you lost."

"I'm terrible at this," James sighs.

"It's a steep learning curve for parents," Dr. Evans says, removing her gloves and making a few notes on her file, "You and your spouse seem to have a happy, healthy child - normally."

And suddenly, because James is overtired, his latest job is a total time suck, and his favorite show got cancelled, he's blurting out, "No. It's just me and she's not even mine. Well, she is now but she was my cousin's - second cousin's? I don't even know who her parents are. How is she alive?"

The doctor waits patiently until James sputters out of steam, lower back pressed against the counter as she eyes him. "You're doing just fine. Chickenpox is practically a rite of passage for most kids - not that inoculation isn't better, but she would've still gotten some symptoms."

She grabs a couple more gloves and squats in front of Gwen, examining her neck and shoulder once more. "And it seems you caught this pretty quickly."

"But I didn't."

"Mr. Potter - "

"James is alright - I think having a nervous breakdown in front of you is enough for first name basis."

She laughs softly, and it's the best thing he's heard in a while. "James, you're a wonderful caregiver. Don't be so hard on yourself."

Sighing, he nods, ruffling his hair nervously before making himself busy re-situating Gwen in his arms. "So what's the verdict, Doc?"

* * *

It's about a week of James in varying states of distress, vacillating between rubbing calamine lotion all over Gwen so she looks like a little chalky ghost, mixing her paracetamol into any mushy baby food he can find, and blearily attempting to finish his projects so he can pay the rent without dipping into his savings.

But they make it through, Gwen's fever breaks a few days in, and less than a fortnight later, she's back being a menace on wheels. Because of course Sirius immediately bought her the most tricked out walker he could find as soon as James brought her home, and of course she loved it more than James and banana mash combined.

They're just sitting down to lunch when it hits him. "Bloody buggering hell."

Remus takes a bite of his sandwich and sighs, "Language."

"She was corrupted before Christmas when James watched Die Hard," Sirius says simply, sprawled across two chairs and teasing Gwen with a carrot stick.

"Gwen wasn't even in the flat," James defends, "And stop - she can't chew that yet."

"You called us all 'bitch' for a week," Remus puts in, smirking around a crisp while Sirius grins.

Turning his attention to Gwen, James airplanes another spoonful of some vegetable something or other into her mouth. "Don't listen to them, I'm wonderful and if you swear it's Sirius' fault."

"Only tangentially, if you count the fact that I'm usually Remus' ride," Sirius teases, "Who got a record number of demerits for 'uncouth language' fourth year?"

"Filch was a - " Remus pauses, pinned by James' 'dad glare', "Not nice person."

Rising, James pulls the tea towel from his shoulder and swipes the remaining orange goo from Gwen's chubby cheeks. "I'll let you two hash this out - Gwen and I have places to be."

"Using your baby to flirt with cute doctors is shameful," Sirius drawls, taking a sip of his lemonade and looking to Remus for backup. He shrugs, "I'll let you two fight this out," he pauses and grins at James, "If he beats you too badly I'm sure your girlfriend will patch you up."

James scowls and flips them both off while Gwen claps.

They're already bundled into the car with a majorly overstuffed diaper bag when James turns his gaze to Gwen in the mirror, her little fists pumping excitedly as she plays with her oversized plastic keyring. "We're just going for a check up and to deliver thank you biscuits."

But when they pull into the lot and James' heart is pounding and his palms are clammy with nerves, he's not sure if the reassurance was for Gwen or himself.

When Dr. McGonagall steps into the exam room and his stomach drops, he's certain. Shite.

"Seems I missed the drama, Mr. Potter," Dr. McGonagall says in her usual crisp manner, her sharp eyes already assessing Gwen before she's even closed the door.

"Dr. Evans said it was pretty normal - no drama," James says a bit absent-minded, "So is she - Dr. Evans? We wanted to say thank you."

McGonagall pulls her stethoscope from around her neck and begins the routine James had memorized three months into fatherhood. "All part of her job, I'm sure she'll say," she says with an air of teasing James normally associates with the two wankers he left at his flat.

Which is a bit of a wake up call that he surrounds himself with little shits, but it also means he's got somewhat of an immunity. So he lifts the back of Gwen's ruffled top for McGonagall. "She will say - so she's here?"

She raises a brow imperiously and James almost thinks she looks at him fondly. "Dr. Evans will be through with her patient and then she'll come in and close this out, since it was her case to begin with."

"Thank you," James blurts, his face flushing almost immediately.

And then Dr. McGonagall definitely is smirking at him, "I do hope you'll be more charming when she comes."

He scoffs while Gwen grabs for his glasses again - he's seriously considering those chains librarians wear - and presses his free hand to his chest. "My bashful flirting is quite charming."

"I'm sure."

Once she's finished her initial exam - read: teasing James - Dr. McGonagall rises, all professionalism, and leaves with a promise that Dr. Evans will be in soon.

James shuffles a bit on the crackling paper beneath him and lets Gwen test her balance next to his hip. She's bouncing a bit, and James can't believe the weight that's lifted from a week ago when she gives him a gummy grin and sways into his arms. He presses a kiss to her forehead. "We're ok, right?"

Gwen pulls away and claps his cheeks, blowing raspberries. But she's smiling so he takes it as a yes.

Before he can mull too much longer, Dr. Evans strides in, a flurry of silken hair and creamy skin that makes him feel like a gangly teenager again. "Alright, Evans?"

And just to be sure he acts exactly as awkward as he feels, James ruffles his hair, pokes himself in the eye, and his trainer loses its grip on the table so he nearly falls off the top. Which is all recoverable until Gwen mumbles, "Shit."

But he's nothing if not nervy, so he takes a shallow breath and grins at the good doctor. "I suppose there could be worse first words."

Dr. Evans smiles, a real one, and props her hip against the counter. "Of course," she reviews Gwen's file shortly, "I hear you've come bearing gifts."

"Potter's are a grateful sort," James says, easily, finally getting himself under control somewhat, "Just whipped up some snickerdoodles."

She blinks at him over the rims of her glasses and James didn't know glasses were a thing for him but this has been a weird year. "Those are my favorites."

Her tone is a bit wary and James tries to shrug, "Just felt like making some."

"So you didn't ask Carol what my favorite biscuit was?" Dr. Evans asks, darting her gaze up from Gwen's back as she checks her skin for any remaining spots.

James scowls, grumbling, "Someone's not getting their 'keep quiet' brownies."

Lips ticking up, Dr. Evans lets Gwen grab one of her fingers, tickling her belly as she ignores James' mumbles. "I don't have any milk, though."

He lets out a sigh, internally grateful that McGonagall is still their primary care so he won't have to relive Dr. Evans' gentle letdown twice a year. "All the shops have small ones on hand - you could pick up a pint."

She hums, making a few notes, as she continues her exam, "Snickerdoodles are better in a group, wouldn't you say?"

James shrugs, "I wouldn't know - never had one."

And if he'd somehow missed the brilliance of her triumphant grin, Dr. Evans' mini victory dance certainly would have. "I knew it."  
A smile rises on his lips, unbidden. "Knew what?"

"You like me," she says, teasing, but not the kind that usually ends with Sirius in a headlock. The kind that he really hopes means she'd like to share her snickerdoodles with him.

She rises while he shrugs uselessly, "Gwen looks wonderful, seems she didn't scratch much so I'm not worried about scarring."

"Sounds like something worthy of a celebration," James begins, and he delights in the flush that rises on her cheeks when he sends her a lopsided smile.

"I've got a tin of snickerdoodles in my office," Dr. Evans suggests, tidying the instruments on the table, "If you're interested."

"And what handsome rogue is wooing you with such delightful treats?" he asks, rising and closing some of the distance between them.

She blinks up at him, and she's definitely a little breathless as he peers down at her, "Some cheeky bloke with a beautiful baby."

Gwen does her best coo as if in response and James lets his hand come to rest on the counter behind Dr. Evans. "There's only one problem."

She's downright whispering now, "Yeah?"

"I don't even know your name."

Surging forward, she presses her lips to his, fervent and sure and entirely too short. She pulls away, barely while Gwen grabs at her red locks. "It's Lily."


End file.
